But that wouldn’t happen. Though my family’s irresponsible, noteveryone is.Mostpeople follow through on their responsibilities. It’s all part of being normal. Besides, Dave and Amanda know how important it is to me to be paid… or at least, they should.
“Perhaps the happy couple left it at the shop,” Bulan consoles me.
They better have.
After I return the SUV, hoping the rental company doesn’t notice the navigation system’s new and improved fizzy personality, I walk silently to the apothecary with Grandma’s pet head. I have Bulan in his increasingly well-established position of mimicking a puppet. It’s sunny out, with puffy, marshmallow-like clouds polka-dotting the sky. It should be a good day, a hopeful day. The day I was planning to head back to Manhattan—again.
Nevertheless, here I am. Feeling the dreadful grip of… dread? Despair? Terror?
Either that, or I’m once again a victim of Grandma Rose’s cooking.
Arriving at the shop begins with disappointment. I don’t find a cash-filled envelope slipped underneath the door, in the mail slot, or taped onto the ceiling, dangling down like a bat. I’m left with no recourse but to text Amanda and Dave, sending a message or two. Or five. Maybe add another zero. Who’s counting?
The answer, of course, is me, becauseit’s my job to keep track of money! Especially the kind that vanishes in unseemly ways.
“What do you want to do next?” Bulan asks after I’ve moved on to more productive tasks than texting. “Besides taking out your feelings on poor Rosie’s herbs.”
“This works great for me,” I reply. “The sound of smashing glass helps clear my mind.”
“I see,” says Bulan.
“You haven’t asked me why I’m still here,” I mention. “You knew I was planning to leave the moment Grandma Rose ascended to the heavens, didn’t you? That I was going to get on a train this morning?”
“Ah, yes. What happened?”
I drop my arm, the violent impulse evaporating at the empathy in Bulan’s voice.
“I’m still here. And that isn’t acceptable. I need to go back to New York to work. Tolive. If I’m stuck in Salem, I’m going to go broke. I couldstarve.”
“Oh no! That would be terrible,” says Bulan. “I’m sure Rosie wouldn’t have wished that.”
“She clearly did.”
“There must be some sort of misunderstanding. It was ‘seven tides, twice passed’ that you were waiting for, correct? Perhaps the wording of the will was more nebulous than you realized.”
“Grandma was terrible at riddles, but she loved wordplay,” I say, frowning. “Maybe I should look at the will myself. See if there’s some kind of misunderstanding in what she said.”
“That sounds like an excellent next step!” says Bulan.
And who would trust Baldy’s interpretation, anyway? I should’ve asked this a long time ago.
As I sweep the last armful of broken herb jars to the trash, I catch sight of a strange figure darkening the doorway outside. He’s a well-dressed man with a deeply unpleasant expression. The smolder of it makes me jump in place, like an agitated gazelle.
“Bulan,” I say once I’m level-footed. “We have another creepy visitor.”
“Getting into position!” he calls out.
Deftly avoiding the glass on the floor, Bulan rolls into an emptied box and hides. Why did he do that? The sight of this random stranger has wormed hope back into my heart.
“Get out of there! He could have my payment from the vampires.”
Muffled by cardboard, the head replies, “I doubt it. He would’ve left it at the door, rather than staring at you for the past hour.”
I don’t know how to process this. “What?”
“From across the street. He was hiding behind that green Prius.”
“No, I mean, ‘what’ as in ‘why didn’t you tell me sooner?’?”
